There’s a common story about how the sandwich got its name. You’ve heard it. John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich was at a gaming table and didn’t wish to leave for dinner. He asked a wench to bring him a piece of meat between two slices of bread so he could continue to gamble. Plausible. No Mythbusters episode has ever been done on it, but it was the perfect story to tell the Countess Dorothy Montagu. Allow me to tell you how it really came to be.

The fire in the hearth was blazing, but it did little to cut the chill from the air. It did, however light the room in a warm, orange glow. Her auburn hair almost looked red as the firelight teased through it. She was on her stomach, arms wrapped lazily around the pillow as she panted, desperate to catch her breath, a fine sheen of sweat coating her in spite of the chill in the room. She wasn’t surprised, nothing else felt real, why would the temperature bother her.

He stirred from beside her, one hand coming up to trace the curve of her backside, teasing over her hip, up her back, easing to her spine before it rose to the back of her neck. She felt the feather bed shift as he moved to brush her hair over one shoulder and place a kiss at the nape of her neck. She moaned softly, most of it lost to the pillow as his tongue eased out, causing a shiver to echo where is hand had just been.

She smiled as his hand fanned out over her back lightly, exploring, tracing the muscles she had just flexed and arced to their very limits. She let out a long, slow exhale as she lowered her eyelids and let herself get lost to the sensation of his fingertips playing over the mounds of her ass, then the full weight of them as he slid lower, over the back of her thigh. His lips moved down her back, along the light indentations of her spine.

She felt his hand slip inward, toward the sticky heat he had created there. She shifted slightly, rolling her hips just enough to open them without moving her legs. She inhaled sharply as his fingers rose, stroking delicately over her swollen skin. She shifted a bit more, rolling her head to the side to look into his eyes as her smile shifted to a teasing smirk. “My lord, you cannot expect me to go again so soon without some kind of food or drink.”

He laughed softly, a wonderful melody to her ears, but not nearly as much as the moans she had heard just moments before. He moved, shifting the entire bed as his weight rose from it, moving to the door without bothering to don clothing. She moved her head lazily over the pillow to watch his form in the light of the fire, smiling at how exquisitely he moved. She was a little taken aback when he opened the door and whispered to one of his waiting footmen. “Go to the kitchen, grab two slices of bread, throw a slab of meat between them, and a pint of ale.” He closed the door without another word.

He turned back to the bed, his face taking on the same wanting smile she had seen when they had met in the common room of the Inn earlier that night. She felt heat rise in her cheeks as he began to move with commanding grace toward the bed, his voice lowered and thick with his arousal. “You’ll have something to eat, and so will I.” He said as he grabbed her delicate ankles and slid her on the bed while she rolled to her back, the pillow lost, and her thighs parting. Her elbows took her weight so she could see the top of his head as he lowered it to trail kisses on the inside of her thighs.

Round two anyone?